


take it or leave it

by bloodandcream



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotions, Intercrural Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 08:10:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8659318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodandcream/pseuds/bloodandcream
Summary: This is what he gets instead.A hard mattress in an overpriced motel that they’ve paid for with scammed money while they wait for word from an absent father. (Dean’s never gonna be better, take it or leave it)Sam takes it.





	

There’s only a few months left to graduation and Dean doesn’t think that he’ll make it. He has more important things to do anyway. Half the time, his dad’ll happily tell him to pack a duffel and hop in the passenger seat. Half the time, he stays behind and makes sure Sammy is fed and off to school.

Really, Dean’s not sure which one of those is the most important.

But high school. That definitely isn’t even a blip on the radar for himself. All the most important things, he learns from his dad and he learns from the hunt. There isn’t time for a school that tries to teach him pre-calc and Shakespeare. What use will that be?

So maybe he keeps skipping. (Maybe he’s probably - definitely - thinking about just quitting). But there’s always Sam, talking excitedly about his day and all the things he’s learning and asking if Dean can help with the homework.

Sometimes, Dean thinks Sam just wants to make sure he’s learning too.

Still, Sam’s nagging is better than Dad’s.

Sam gives him incentive. Rewards him. Knows just how to pull Dean along with sugar-bitten lips and bright eyes over homework papers while Dean spoons out a cardboard bland boxed dinner. Sam knows how to say thank you, with words and other, little foot pushing up Dean’s calf under the table.

Homework done, lights out, sheets pulled up. All Sam’s promises come to life in the neon-glow pushing past window blinds, in musty beds and on creaking mattresses. Stolen moments it seems when Dean should be somewhere - anywhere - else. There’s small bony hands pulling his arms around, little bubble butt pushing against him.

Keep the monsters away, keep the shadows away.

It’s warm and soft and smooth. Between Sam’s legs. There’s a little trail growing under his navel, a little nest around his cock just starting to spring. But he’s small, small. Plaything too easily broken (Dean can’t, he’s done make believe before, too rough)

Sam begs so pretty. Just Dean and him. Milk pale thighs clamped over his cock, back to belly, rolling together in a rhythm that’s jerky and overeager. Sam pulls Dean around him and whimper-begs, consoles, encourages.

He’s so tiny in Dean’s arm. Baby boy. Bird of a brother. Too lean even though he’s got a mean streak a mile wide and given the chance will pin Dean down to the dirt and crow victory (in Dean’s defense that pink gape of a mouth and the dirty wiggle of those hips is damn distracting)

But he won’t take, he can’t, that thing that’s supposed to be special and wrong and dirty. Dean’s not like that.

Sam wheedles, and tells him this is good. Bodies flush close, warm and soft, under the blankets and in the dark. Dean rocks his dick between Sam’s small hand-span thighs, and Dean’s hand can gulf the entirely of boy-cock, all high-voice like a choir boy singing praise until Dean comes sticky-wet all over that given spread.

-

There are too many questions afterward. About the where’s and the when’s. (on both sides) And really, it’s not like Dean has any better answers to give. But it’s easy to slip into habit isn’t it. Routine. Night time. Teeth brushed and dirty clothes tossed into the corner of a motel that’s familiar in it’s habitat but they’ve never actually visited before.

Sam is too tall for Dean now.

Tall and broad, heavy muscled, Sam is nothing like the boy that Dean knew four years ago. Baby boy. Nothing like the weed of his little brother, too thin and too bony and so goddam starving he’d eat up anything Dean gave him. (whether Dean should have given or not is a different question)

So there’s this tension. This maybe sort of question. This wanting. And Dean knows that it goes both ways, it’s both of their faults. But god does he feel like he’s overstepping every-time he thinks of her. Jess. He saw her for a minute but she was beautiful and Dean wants that for his little brother. (anything normal, promises of futures)

This is what he gets instead.

A hard mattress in an overpriced motel that they’ve paid for with scammed money while they wait for word from an absent father. (Dean’s never gonna be better, take it or leave it)

Sam takes it.

Warm breath against the back of Dean’s neck, broad hands brand hot on his hips, Sam curls behind him and almost sobs into the short hair at the back of Dean’s nape. Almost. He can feel the tremble build in Sam’s chest, so close, so close, but there’s hands on his hips and on his thighs before Dean thinks there will be. (he denies it, that he didn’t see it coming)

Sure and steady, boxers pushed down, Sam is there. Dean is so not familiar with the cock pressing between his thighs. (is this his boy) But everything else is a known. Musty motel sheets and neon sign lights pushing past the slat of blinds. There’s the papers and the maybes of the case they’re working tacked against the walls, salt lines along the doors, weapons checked before sleep laid out on the unoccupied bed.

And Sam. Baby boy. Brother. (traitor) His. Chest to knee, ankle pushed between Dean’s leg, too eager to take more (or too uncertain) as he ruts between Dean’s thighs and leaves five-dimpled finger bruises on a waist, mouth huffing warm along the sweep of Dean’s shoulder and there’s only more more more please god I need more, between them.

That’s all they've got.


End file.
